Ok, so I might have a "little" porn addiction...

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Video of the Day: MF Doom: "Favorite Ladies"

I'm a huge MF Doom fan, but this is hardly my favorite video or song by the man. But this video reminds me of a time when I used to have a vast amount of girlfriends at one time. Yes I was a pig, but at the time I justified my dalliances with many women as me "needing a variety" so I wouldn't get bored out of my fucking skull. It wasn't even a sex thing, OK it was, but the fact that I could hang out with women that ranged from a rich socialite, a female prison guard, a spoken word artist, and a straight hood chick just made the life of serial cheater even that much more of an interesting existence. I would act holier than thou and say that I have discontinued said lifestyle because of how morally inept it is, I wish I could, but the only reason that I'm not with more women than pepper spray currently is because of my extreme fear of my penis falling off. Anyhow, this video reminds me of that particular time in my life.

Oh yeah, on a side note, have you noticed how detailed wikipedia can be?? I like to be informed like any other red blooded American, but they go so in depth with some of their profiles I'm scared to see what they will write about me if I ever become famous. I can see it now, my blog would be mentioned along with personal facts like "He used to wet the bed until he was 20" and that I "currently sleep with a Strawberry Shortcake doll."


*P.S: Minutes after I posted this entry a real good friend of mine made me aware that MF DOOM is referncing drugs in this song. Man, who would have thought that HumanityCritic missed an old fashioned drug reference, I'm slipping.


MF Doom interview

Ann Coulter: A Full time nut-job who moonlights as a plagiarist..

I'm pretty sure, for all of you out there like me who like to throw back more shots than Kurt Cobain, you have heard the age old bar rule that has been around for decades. You know, the one that says that you should never discuss "religion" or "politics" in a drinking establishment, yes that one. Being that I have seen all out bar brawls based on disagreements concerning "Fahrenheit 911", Bush(the president dummy), and a spirited debate about Jesus being "black"(that was me..), I agree that attempting to tackle those topics in a watering hole isn't the wisest of choices. That being said, this past weekend I found myself doing just that, arguing with some ass-hat in a bar about politics. First let me explain: There is this dude named Derek that I simply can't stand, and even though I'm 32 and should know better, I just want this waste of sperm to give me a legitimate reason to pummel him in front of a crowd of drunken onlookers. But because Derek is a old friend of my best friend's wife, I have been told at least 20 times, to "leave him alone".

So you can imagine the dilemma I found myself in as I was flirting with a bartender with luscious floatation devices on her chest, when this jackass Derek decided to sit right beside me. Maybe it's me, or maybe I have just been way too subtle, but I thought me telling him "One day, I promise, you will be on the business end of a beating" would tip him off that he isn't my favorite person in the world to talk to. Anyway, because he knew that I was told not to touch him, he acted like a bratty kid in an adult game of tag with his proverbial hand on "base" saying whatever he liked. Somehow, after a few minutes of me ignoring him the same way I do Tyler Perry plays, he got on the topic of Ann Coulter and the plagiarism charges levied against her. He said, "It's the fucking left wing media!! This is just their way of trying to bring down a woman speaking the truth, speaking her mind!!" That's when I turned to him, and as politely as I could stated my point in a calm and articulate manner. Ok, who I'm I kidding, I angrily turned to him, grabbed him out of his chair by the neck and said, "Left wing media?? Did "Moveon.org force her to lift entire passages from other people's articles?? Did the DailyKos put a gun to her head and tell her not to site the sources that she stole from?? Jesus, it's one thing to be a right-wing nut who is two sandwiches away from a skeleton, but to not even be original about is plain sad and obvious, like Ann's adams apple"

Anyway I let go of his his throat, and because I felt terrible about what I had just done I apologized profusely and offered to pay for his drinks for the rest of the night. Ok, that's me bullshitting again. I palmed his face, mushed him into a corner and tossed a couple of bar stools on top of him. If he tells he tells, fuck it, at least that miserable bastard gave me a great segue for the above Ann Coulter video.

Yesterday we finally put my father to rest

Sunday afternoon, even though he left this earth more than 5 years ago, me, my mother, and my brother finally put my father to rest. No, don’t get it twisted, it’s not like we had the big guy mummified in a house somewhere because we have serious “letting go” issues. I mean, I was at Arlington National Cemetery on that unseasonably warm February day in 2001, sitting beside my mother as a highly decorated military man placed a neatly folded American flag in her lap, me realizing what a great soldier he was as the 21 gun salute made an extremely bad hangover even worse. So yes, I was there when they lowered the man that I call “pops” in the ground. But even though my family was forced to let go of the man in his physical form, I think that we all, in are own way, didn’t realize until yesterday that we hadn’t completely let go.

Let me explain.. Besides a 30 year veteran of the Navy, my father was also a lifelong mechanic. Listen, I had and will always have issues with my father, but if it had a motor he could fix it, I couldn't tell you how many childhood toys the man repaired. Anyway, he had a car garage that he ran since the early 80’s, a car garage that we all couldn’t let go of until yesterday. Yes it was just sitting there, yes rent was paid on that spot even though there wasn’t a business there, yes my old man’s car garage became a glorified storage unit that held his vast array of auto repair tools that he had accumulated over his lifetime. But it wasn’t until recently when the rent was being raised that my family realized not only how silly it was paying rent there since 01’, but yesterday as we cleaned up the place and took the last of the tools out of there, we knew that we were finally saying goodbye.

To be completely honest, I pitched a fucking fit when my mother and brother asked me for my assistance in cleaning the place up. Yes, I can be lazy, and yes I had a serious hangover with stripper glitter all over me, but I knew why I really dreaded going there. Even though I despised going there when my father was alive, maybe it's me but changing people’s oil in 95 degree heat and being yelled at continuously wasn’t exactly my cup of tea, but I knew that the end of what we affectionately call “the shop” would be tearing down a sort of shrine to my father.(A rather expensive one at that.)

So yesterday, as we threw trash in dumpsters, poured cat litter on oil spills, and hauled everything from transmissions to jack-stands to a real storage unit, there was definitely a somber feeling that fell upon us. Me, regretting the horrible relationship that me and my father had, even now at 32, having pleasant daydreams where me and my father are bonding during some random activity because of regret, I knew that the closing of “the shop” was a big step concerning me emotionally moving on. My brother probably took it the hardest, never actually shedding a tear or blubbering like a school girl, but the ultra serious demeanor he had even though we were doing the most menial of tasks let me know that it affected him too. Hell, he had a relationship with my father that I would have given a left testicle for, ok, maybe a finger,(fuck, do I really have to lose an appendage for you to understand what I’m trying to say??”) My mother, the rock of the family, even though she is the epitome of “poker face” I knew that our last day at the shop affected her intensely by her simply saying, “Goddamn, this is some really sad shit!!”

Anyway, as painful as it was, I think finally putting my father, I mean “the shop”, to rest is the best thing for all of us..

This just proves that you shouldn't give a chubby pre-ejaculator the remote

The following sentence might endanger my hetero-street cred, but being that I have admitted to openly weeping when Cochise died in "Coolie High" and being one of the only straight males who watch "One life to Live" on a regular basis, maybe said "hetero street cred" went out the window years ago. OK, here goes.. Whenever I am dating someone, even early in the relationship, I envision the minute possibility that one day the both of us will be married somewhere, black picket fence, 2.5 kids, her making a bonfire out of my porn stash, the whole nine. But when I think deeper in terms of someone sharing my living space, I think of all the bad habits that I have, habits that I think would make even the most liberal pacifist want to cut my nuts off with a dull knife. For one thing I have full blown arguments in my sleep, with god knows who, from topics ranging from Hip Hop to capitol punishment, where I always end up challenging the nocturnal opponent to a "duel".(who knows?) I snore, I'm not the neatest person in the world, I don't answer the door when people "pop up", I like to hum the smurf tune whenever I ejaculate, I sing the Willy Wonka inspired "I got the golden ticket" song every time I clutch a condom that I'm about to put on before sex, and I just know that whenever I have a new girlfriend I will scream a Busta Rhyme-esque "get Low Critic!!!" right before I give my mate reciprocity in the name of oral.

But, I'm pretty sure that there is a person out there willing to deal with my specific brand of bullshit. Maybe there is even a small segment of nut-bag ladies out there, possibly, who find my immature antics "cute", "adorable" even.(ahem.. hey, just kidding about the "nut-bag" line ladies. Um, my email address is on my blog..) But there is one idiosyncrasy that I have that I'm certain even the most tolerant female can't get beyond, one that even annoys me when other people do it. That idiosyncrasy is my utterly irritating, manic way I handle the remote control while I'm watching the boob tube. I've been told that my handling of the remote is similar to a Hip Hop DJ trying to blend records with a lethal mix of caffeine, crack, speed, and crystal meth flowing through his blood stream, frantically going back and forth between both records. I don't know, maybe it's my ADD, but I feel like an acrobatic cable-man as I flip channels, seemingly unsatisfied regardless of what channel I eventually land on. So buckle up your seat-belts you fucking grommets, and see what it feels like to sit beside Humanity F Critic as I channel surf.

HumanityCritic turn off the DVD player with the movie starring Chest C. Mann as he pleases a plethora of gluteal enhanced temptresses. A heartwarming tale really, where the fate of the world relies on his sperm to stay alive. I don't need to be an Ebert here, but I'm sure that the men in that fictitious scenario would probably chose that death thing over another guy's "goo". HumanityCritic grabs the remote to see what's on T.V.

Click..click..Click

Making the Band 3: Jesus Christ man, I hate Puffy the same way Lou Diamond Phillips must hate Melissa Etheridge. For one thing, what good has that miserable son of bitch actually done besides discover Biggie? Loon, Black Rob, Mase, the dude has produced more horrific artists than that brief period that "horror-core" was popular. As for the show, I can't speak on it for a great amount of time because I have only seen bits and pieces of it. But it's evident that those girls are never going to come out, and if they do they will receive the same amount of attention that Puffy usually gives one of his artists, hardly none. For the life of me, when he tries to bully one of the girls for underachieving, I keep wanting her to say "What?? Weren't you the same asshole who wore those god awful shining suits?? Aren't you the same guy who piggybacked the death of your so called "friend" to further your own sub par musical career?? Watch who you talk to, Sean.." Fuck it, let's see what else is on..

Click..Click..Click..

"Hogan Knows Best": Should I really care about a show starring a wrestler that I stopped caring about when I was 12?? After a few minutes of viewing it became painfully obvious that this show isn't on Vh1 because of it's quality, but simply because it conveniently fills a 30 minute time gap. They all have the personality of string cheese, and I'm wondering if I'm the only one that wants something bad to happen to them, like Johnny Knoxville coming out of nowhere and smacking one of them in the face with a 2x4. Lastly, I have heard of overprotective fathers, but the "Hulkster" takes it to a new level, to the point that I think.. OK, I won't go there, but the end result of what I was about to type are 3 headed children. Lets see what else is on..

Click..Click..Click..

"Batman Begins": I love this movie, taking that cave dwelling superhero from those campy ass movies of the 90's, and making him a much darker figure was such a great move in my honest opinion. I don't have much to say about this, lets see what else is on.(grabbing remote, then putting it down to address the blog readership) Wait, there is one thing that pisses me off like a bad bladder about this movie. It isn't the plot, cinematography, the actors, none of those are my particular gripes. My problem is with Katie Holmes' character, Rachel Dawes, the childhood friend of Bruce Wayne who keeps giving him shit about his lifestyle. Granted, she has no idea that Bruce moonlights in a strange suit fighting crime in Gotham, but her constant condescending "what are you doing with your life" shit gets tired quick. I keep wanting Bruce Wayne to say, "Bitch, I'm Batman goddammit!! While you were going over documents last night I took on 3 bank robbers, an evil madman with a laser with the capacity to take out 4 city blocks, and local cops who think that I'm the bad guy. Get the fuck outta here before I beat you with my utility belt!" OK, lets see what else is on..

Click...click...Click..

"E! Entertainment News": It says here that Corey Haim and Corey Feldman are pitching a reality show surprisingly called, "The Corey's". Man, talk about a cluster-fuck of unadulterated "Who gives a shit!!", let's hope that this trainwreck never sees the light of day. These two wastes of flesh haven't been relevant since LL Cool J's "Radio" album, what makes them think that people want to tune in weekly to see a fucking half hour cautionary tale. But to be clear, I have never had a beef with Corey Haim, he wasn't the first and won't be the last teen idol who became road kill on that pop culture highway. But Corey Feldman, that douche-bag, I have more beef with him than Peta does with the dietary habits of Reuben Studdard. OK, he was good in "Stand By Me", but remember that Michael Jackson phase he went through in the late 80's, what in the fuck was that about?? Also, I love "The Lost Boys", but the only thing that ruins it is Corey Feldman's acting choice to have his character talk with a groggy, "let me sound like this to get the ladies" voice. *mental note*[If I ever see feldman, punch him dead in the face] OK, what else is on..

Click..click..click..

ESPN:"Interview with Shaq": As a Lakers fan and a Kobe Bryant apologist I know that hating Shaq is a natural as Mary J. Blige depressing people, or her scaring her make-up lady in the morning, I know that. But even if I wasn't a fan of the Lakers I'm certain that the 7 foot milk-dud named Shaquille O'Neal would still bother me. For one thing he won a ring, congrats, but he still keeps Kobe Bryant in his mouth like he is trying to get the record for the World's longest "mouth hug". Besides that the media, because they either hate Kobe that much or collectively think that most black men can't string together 2 coherent sentences, act like the words that come out of his mouth are the most profound syllables ever. I mean, people quote this jackass and act like he is Mark Twain or Winston Churchill or some shit, but when you read the actual text you shake your head the same way you would if your domesticated animal shat all over your couch. People, the guy is a douche, wake up!! Go somewhere and make another "Kazaam" movie you shit-stain, lets see what else is on.

Click..click..Click.

"The 2006 B.E.T Awards": After seeing a few fleeting moments of Damon Wayans hosting it suddenly occurred to me that the Wayans family haven't made sane people laugh since "I'm Gonna Get your Sucka".(Sad really) Ok, I didn't sit through the entire thing, I couldn't based on the mass amounts of wackness that were in attendance that particular night. When Debra Lee, the Chairman and C.E.O of B.E.T got up to address the crowd, I felt a warm feeling rush my body like I was coming in contact with someone who once assaulted my mother. Ms. Lee is probably a nice woman, but when I think of the torrential downpour on black culture B.E.T is, let's just say that I won't be heading Ms. Lee's fan-club anytime soon. I kept wanting to call her the "Eva Braun of black culture", you know Hitler's girlfriend, sitting there clueless as millions of people are sent to the gas chamber of ignorance, a move set in motion by Hitler himself.(Bob Johnson) But comparing anyone, even figuratively, to one of the worst animals in history is a bit much. They aren't sending people to any gas chamber or perpetrating any other garden variety of atrocity you can name, but B.E.T is still dangerous.

By the way, I'm not complaining, but didn't Indie Arie get thick as a motherfucker?(On some "red beans and rice didn't miss her" shit) Of course she shaved her head, I'm not mad at that, but she is so damn solid I'm certain that she could hold Shaq to single digits, during a Heat home-game no less!!. Let me stop drooling over the woman, I don't have a chance in hell with her, even if I did I'm certain that my penchant for coming home drunk and triple penetration porn wouldn't sit well with a coffee shop chick like herself.


Click..click..Click.. Fuck it..

HumanityCritic switches the T.V off.

Artist that a Old Head told me to check out: Joe Newman

Well, I finally broke down and decided to see what happened to Saxophone Willy. I just knew that I would receive some horrible news as soon as I entered the jazz club he performed at, like maybe no one had seen him in weeks, or possibly I would hear a haunting tale having to do with some city workers, scuba-divers, and Willy wearing cement shoes. Shit, I didn't know what to think as I entered that smoke filled club, so obviously I had to do a double take as I saw Saxophone Willy having his favorite alcoholic beverage at the bar. Have you ever sat besides somebody and just felt that you were unwelcomed like a motherfucker?? Well, that's how I felt when I started to shoot the shit with Willy, it took him a few minutes to even acknowledge my existence with his eyes, an offense by the way that would get most sons-of-bitches intimately acquainted with a beating. He spoke, but he was so brief with his words it seemed like every one of his sentences had a 7 word limit. As he walked away I could tell that he was walking with a serious limp, an injury that possible was the result in him owing someone 5 figures, then he turned around briefly and said "Hey kid, you want a name for that segment on your blog??" Before I answered I thought about the relief I felt that he was still alive, mixed with me feeling that his anger towards me was misdirected based on how unreasonable the nature of the loan he asked for was. So, as he stood there clutching his leg waiting for a response I said, "You know Willy, fuck you.. Invest in a kickstand, you wobbly old bastard!!"

Even though I knew I shouldn't had cursed the old fellow, especially since without him I felt that my "old head" segment would be coming to an end, but at the end of the day I felt it was justified since I let that geriatric fuck get away with far too much shit in the first place. I mean, I'm not saying that I would have knocked an old man out or anything, I'm not even condoning it, but since I once sucker punched a 65 year old man who didn't want to pay me a gambling debt he owed me and wanted to capitalize his unwillingness to do so while holding a switch blade, I don't particularly come off like Mother Theresa on that particular subject.

So, I decided to follow my dear mothers advice and make this profile on my great Uncle, Joe Newman. I don't remember ever meeting the man, and if I did I was probably in the middle of drooling and shitting myself, but what I do know by the music that he left behind is that he was a fine jazz musician. He was one of a selective few to spend a great deal of time playing with Count Basie's orchestras throughout the 40's and the 50's. Coming from a musical family in New Orleans(My moms mom and her immediate "peeps") he was influenced by Louis Armstrong, he was known as one of the most versatile trumpeters ever. He played with Lionel Hampton's big band(1941-43), worked with J.C Heard, shared solo space with Thad Jones, besides his many stints in Basie's orchestra. *In later years, Joe Newman fared well at the 1972 Newport in New York jam sessions, guested with the New York Jazz Repertory Company, toured with Benny Carter, and led sessions for Black & Blue and Concord. He also founded Jazz Interactions, a New York-based organization that educated children about jazz and promoted concerts.*

But because I'm probably a small minded dude who has all of his priorities in the wrong place, those laundry list of accomplishments isn't what particularly sticks out in my mind about my great uncle. What I remember, and what you can see for yourself by picking up "The autobiography of Malcolm X", is that my Uncle was one of the musicians Malcolm said he sold "reefer" to when he was a hustler in Harlem. I'm saying, how fucking cool is that?? Anyway, check out my myspace page for a sample of his works, or simply get your narrow ass to the myspace page I created in his honor.

*Scott Yanow, All Music Guide

Hey HumanityCritic, what in the fuck are you doing with this in your ipod? Madness: "Our House"

This video is probably the only good thing that ever came out of racism, let me explain: No, this group isn't racist and in no way is this song promoting racism, keep your fucking shorts on why don't you. See, for any of you reading this who are around my age range you can remember when MTV didn't play video's by black artists, and when they did it was a strict diet of only Michael Jackson with a side order of Prince. Because of this, it opened me up to a world of music that I probably would have never been exposed to if it wasn't for Mtv's refusal to play prominent black musicians of the time. So instead of my IPOD looking like an eclectic blend of various sounds and genres, it actually looks like I raided a record store, grabbed whatever I could find, and then in a mad panic decided to put said stolen Cd's into my Ipod so I could destroy the evidence. Anyway, based on my constant blabbering Hip Hop, this is one song that would probably make you say: "Hey HumanityCritic, what in the fuck is this doing in your IPOD?" I guess my answer would be, in a De La Soul inspired skit minus the beat-down, "Hey, I kinda like it. I blame Mtv and their racism!!!"

Ok, I'm starting to like this Jim Webb guy..

Jim Webb's press secretary's response to George Allen's "unpatriotic" claims:

"While Jim Webb and others of George Felix Allen Jr.'s generation were fighting for our freedoms and for our symbols of freedom in Vietnam, George Felix Allen Jr. was playing cowboy at a dude ranch in Nevada. People who live in glass dude ranches should not question the patriotism of real soldiers who fought and bled for this country on a real battlefield"

Notice how he said everything except that George Allen lacked a functioning pair of testicles? Notice how he throws that subtle amount of ridicule in there, using his middle name "Felix" when talking about Allen??(Man, I'm glad I fucking voted for this guy.) Do we actually have a democratic candidate that's willing to get dirty, not expose their collective "skirts", and do what it takes to win?? Well, Webb was a longtime Republican who served under Reagan, but I'm totally behind anyone who can call republicans on their "unpatriotic" bullshit. Plus, anyone who has a Confederate flag and a noose in their office, and voted against a Martin Luther King Jr. holiday for Christs sake, needs to be on the business end of a public beating. Give him hell Jim!!

Congrats Brother

First of all let me apologize to all my readers that I kept waiting, but I have been finishing up my book so that has taken up a great deal of my time.(Along with chronic hangovers and unsatisfying women across the globe) So now that I'm back to trying, if not already, being your "favorite blogger's favorite blogger", I want to get a few things off my chest concerning my friend "Iselfra". When I met him more than 6 years ago through my ex, at first I took didn't truly appreciate the words of wisdom that he dropped on me from time to time. Me being the paranoid, distrustful guy that I am, thought that his words of positivity were something that would fade like a prom queen's beauty 30 years after graduation only to see the ugly truth come out eventually. Well, I was wrong about him, and he has proven to be a great friend to a person known for not only burning bridges when it comes to friendships, but calling in air strikes to obliterate any thing in a 5 mile radius of said bridge.

Since I figured that I would feature a blogger that I read at least once a week, who better to start with than the guy who gave me words of encouragement that would stick in my mind every time I feel like I don't want to blog any more. Those words were, simply, "Don't fall off, and don't be wack!!" Along with those verbal gems have come refreshing bouts of blatant honesty from Iselfra like him telling me that a certain post was "Wack", his disagreement with me and my bleak outlook on Hip Hop, and his prophetic "I wouldn't want to be you right now, with the hate you are about to get" last year when I won those blog awards. Not only that, he is the only person besides my mother that can call me an asshole and get away with it, not because of our friendship but because he knows capoeira and I wouldn't want to write any "My boy beat my black ass" posts any time soon.

Not only do I want to say that his blog is mixed with intelligence, all the facets of Hip Hop culture, family, heart, consciousness, an all around great read, but I also want to congratulate Iselfra on the newest 8 pound 9 inch addition to his family.(A bouncing baby boy) Congratulations man! Now, if only I can find some woman to accept my demon seed, so my kid can battle your kid in a break-dance battle, "Electric Boogaloo" style!!

A heart-warming tale: Why I despise organized religion..

The other day, for the life of me I couldn't tell you why, I did something that I thought I would never do again. No, I haven't decided to start fucking midgets again, haven't purchased another Eminem album, and the only reason I wore that speedo last year was because the woman I was intimate with told me that seeing my derriere made her hotter than Lil Kim's crotch on African Safari. After a long absence, Humanity F Critic decided to take his black ass to church. Don't let the title of this post fool you, I do believe in a higher power, and that isn't based on some sort of blind faith either. I mean, who else could have saved me from myself, those 1000 fights I have been in, the suicidal path that I took when I tried to drink myself to death, that had to be an act of god.(I am the poster boy for the "god looks after fools and babies" term) Lastly, when my father was healthy, one of the only topics that we agreed on were the foolish actions of people who were heavily religious. We called them "nut-bags", "bible thumping freaks", and every other name under the sun. So, I couldn't ignore the irony in it all as we were both praying, with our hands clutched, as my father lay there dying on his death bed on that rainy Sunday afternoon in February 01. Weirder in fact was later that night, when I had a dream of a thin dread-locked man with a white light behind him, approaching me screaming "Oh, NOW you want to pray to me, huh?? People kill me, wait people did kill me, man I kill me sometimes. hahaha" Some truly freaky shit.

So after a long layoff, I decided to take my dark complected ass to church, not only because I felt like it is something that I should be doing, but also this was the first Sunday since my mid 20's where I wasn't hung the fuck over smelling like cheap perfume and some miscellaneous woman's genitalia. Listen, I was raised Catholic, so the guilt of me not going to confession for the longest time was already there before I even stepped foot into that wooden structure that I call "God's microphone booth", I sat down in confessional, looking around in awe the same way an adult does when they have the chance to visit the childhood room that they slept in 30 years prior. Then suddenly the little door slid open, and before he could say anything I said "Forgive me father for I have sinned!" He said, "My son, how long has it been since your last confession?" I nervously racked my brain, not remembering specifically how many years it had been, so I simply said "The Clinton Administration?" I have to tell you, besides the jumper I hit yesterday to bring my team to victory at my local YMCA over a team with the combined age of like a thousand, nothing makes a person feel better than to have a priest laugh at one of your jokes.

He laughed for a good 20 seconds, which made me revise the old comedian line which I thought was fitting, "Thank you. Thank you!! My next show is 2016!" Instead of going through the regular "confessional" routine, he wanted to know why I didn't go to church regularly. Usually, I would have lied my ass off, even to a priest, about why I hadn't gone to church as regularly as most people. But since I'm an attention whore and the man had laughed at my joke for christs sake, I decided to tell him the truth that I really despised organized religion. He then said, "You aren't going to go into the "little boys" and "priests' thing are you, I'm tired of hearing that!!" That's when I told him, "Hey, I look at that the same way the Bush administration looked at Abu Graibe, 'just a few bad apples'" Again he laughed(not particularly the toughest crowd) and after the confession he pulled me aside, and wanted to know what specifically drove me away from organized religion. So, the following reasons I despise organized religion is exactly what I told the only man outside of Humanity F Critic Sr. that I have ever called "father". Of course this is the dirty version, but you understand.

Falling the fuck out: Even though I was always suspicious of celebrities who decided they wanted to "find god" all of a sudden, after they had snorted up all the coke and put their mouth on every phallus this side of the equator. I was always like, "Yeah, NOW you find religion!!" But a few years ago I was less cynical, because I had a few incidents happen to me where I had hit rock bottom and needed heavenly enlightenment, so I finally understood why after years of debauchery a person might want to be "cool with Christ". What made me want to have a chat with the big fella in his "house", simply, was because I was almost shot a few times. No, I'm not a thug, never sold weight, and I never claimed that the fictional character "Scarface" was something that I was aspiring to be. But, due to a stray shot that almost hit me at a club, a jealous ex-boyfriend who wanted my mother to only have one son, and a gentleman who wanted to forever silence my "big mouth" after a party, I knew that it was time to get reacquainted with my homeboy JC.

At the time a chick I was dating, Carla, suggested that I go with her to her church. Even though I was catholic and I think she was a baptist at the time, I saw no harm going with her where she worshipped. Immediately I felt that I had stepped into the twilight-zone, I mean, at catholic churches you have speedy services, these Gregorian chant type hymns, and everyone is reserved. In this chick's church folks were convulsing in a "Pat Riley trying to dance" sort of way , and like the fictional monster "Enema Man" it was scaring the shit out of me. After a few minutes of feeling like a Frank Sinatra fan who suddenly found himself in a Wu-Tang Klan concert, I noticed that everyone formed a single file line facing the preacher. As I looked further, I noticed that the preacher was putting his hand on people, and the particular person he had his hand on would shake like Muhammad Ali break-dancing, then they would fall the fuck out. I stood in line, wondering if I would catch the holy ghost, fake it if I didn't, or be a smart ass and tell the preacher "Nothing is happening, does that mean I'm Satan??!!" But I did none of that, I got so nervous I ran out of the building and proceeded to run the 4 miles to my house. Don't ask.

Sister Act: A few years ago I used to date this chick named Belinda, by far one of the wildest chicks foolish enough to ever see me naked. I'm talking bar fights, smacking chicks in the face for the fuck of it, cursing out random individuals at the drop of a hat, truly a woman after my own heart. I thought I had met my soul mate, a chick that I could grow old with, a woman who would roll my blunts for me when I got older, one that would tell my kids that the only reason I was smoking weed was because of my cataracts. Yeah, we had a bright future, that was until I hung out with her on Sundays. For one thing, music that I played in my car that she usually enjoyed was all of a sudden, on Sunday's that is, "inappropriate". She would actually eject my CD's and put in some god awful gospel Hip Hop, where said MC's would ruin a perfectly good beat by talking about "giving praise", or some other nonsensical hogwash like that. This chick was like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hide, especially when it came to "bumping uglies" on what many feel is the one holy day of the week

This one time while we were in my car, I tried to get frisky with her in my mode of transportation, her and my backseat were on a first name basis by the way. But on this particular Sunday she said, "Get off me, this is the lord's day!! I'm not engaging in sexual activities in your car!" That's when I lost in and said, "Listen, it's not like the almighty doesn't see you giving out mouth-hugs like free cheese from Monday through Saturday. Oh Yeah, by the way, you didn't have problems having sex in my car when you used my gear shift as a god damned dildo! Most of the time you are "9 1/2 weeks" but on Sunday you're "Sister Act"?? Fuck you, you Fucking hypocrite!!' Yeah, that was one of the last times I saw Belinda, even though I dearly miss her making my stick shift disappear.

The Preacher Hustle: Me and preachers go together like Melissa Etheridge and a penises, not very well. I mean, I respect the true messengers of the word, people who are totally selfless, doing whatever they can do to spread that positive message that inspires anybody within an earshot of their voice. I'm down for that, but what I'm not down with are the few "men of Christ" who I feel have abused their power the same way police officers who promises the hooker he won't arrest her if she goes down on him. I have encountered preachers who promote giving back and look down on excess, putting his congregation through a 2 hour sermon on the subject, only to drive away afterwards with a Lexus Jeep with spinners. I was once lectured about the importance of tithing and how if I did so that good things might happen for me, only to learn later that this man was fucking 3 different women in back on his church that weren't his loving wife. Or the worst at all, the black preachers who either get a huge "donation" from the republican party, or foolishly feel that abortion is the only issue out there come election time, so they betray the trust of their people and urge them to vote for some right-wing ass hat.

Tyler Perry: I'm sorry, I know that a lot of you like the material that this man puts out, but I motherfucking hate this guy. No, it's not that I just flat out think that the guy is a cluster-fuck of unadulterated unfunny. No, it's not that I feel that a lot of his humor is about a notch above traditional black-face and rappers with grills, that's not it at all. Really, my reason for hating this guy shouldn't have any reason for my hatred of organized religion, only that this girl that I would randomly show my genitalia to would play his fucking plays every Sunday morning that I was there. Fellas, it was so bad that I often considered skipping a sexual experience that I nicknamed "The late-night flesh-fest", where all my desires could be fulfilled with a woman that I just new moonlighted as a porn star. The worse feeling in the world is waking up, wanting to watch sportscenter or Ebert and Roeper in someone else's bed, having to endure some ghetto ass plays on video, plays that sounded like they were written by the same wordsmiths that brought us the gem "Kingdom Come" I know, Tyler Perry shouldn't be one of the reasons that drove me away from organized religion, I just wanted another reason to shit on him.

Video of the Day... Main Source: "Just Hanging out"

I have always loved Main Source and the song "Just Hanging out", really I have, but that isn't the main reason I'm playing this video today. The first reason I'm playing this classic tune is because I have become pretty cool with a young group of Hip Hop aficionados in my area, not "R. Kelly" young, but most of them are at least a decade younger than I am. Anyway, whenever I go to any of their functions, where "real Hip Hop" is played by the way, they spin this song as an indication that the "Hip Hop Uncle Rico" is in the house. Why do they call me that you ask? Well, the character in Napoleon Dynamite, "Uncle Rico", was a guy trapped in the past, not wanting to let go of the early 80's. Since they feel that I despise everything new in Hip Hop, and I constantly talk affectionately about the Rap music of the late 80's, they call me "The Hip Hop Uncle Rico". I should be pissed and throat-chop one of them, or kick one in the chest for having me be the butt of one of their jokes, but it's ok. Also, for the past decade and change I have called my brother a "Large Professor ass Negro" because of his striking resemblance to the man, but because he never knew who in the fuck I was talking about it was the best inside joke ever. That is, if he doesn't read this post.

"John Stewart is Poisoning Democracy".. Bullshit I say..

This excerpt is from a Washington Post article on Jon Stewart's "The Daily Show":

This is not funny: Jon Stewart and his hit Comedy Central cable show may be poisoning democracy. Two political scientists found that young people who watch Stewart's faux news program, "The Daily Show," develop cynical views about politics and politicians that could lead them to just say no to voting.

But, but, but wait it gets worse!!!

Jody Baumgartner and Jonathan S. Morris of East Carolina University said previous research found that nearly half -- 48 percent -- of this age group watched "The Daily Show" and only 23 percent of show viewers followed "hard news" programs closely. To test for a "Daily Effect," Baumgartner and Morris showed video clips of coverage of the 2004 presidential candidates to one group of college students and campaign coverage from "The CBS Evening News" to another group. Then they measured the students' attitudes toward politics, President Bush and the Democratic presidential nominee, Sen. John F. Kerry (Mass.).
The results showed that the participants rated both candidates more negatively after watching Stewart's program. Participants also expressed less trust in the electoral system and more cynical views of the news media, according to the researchers' article, in the latest issue of American Politics Research."

I don't know who these god-awful researchers are, but these must have been the same kids who got atomic wedgies during lunch period and never "got the girl" so to speak, because I haven't seen a bigger pile of shit since I poked a hole in my great Uncle's colostomy bag once. Listen, the only two news shows worth watching in this age of "information", are "Countdown with Keith Olbermann" on MSNBC, and "The Daily Show with Jon Stewart". Besides that, where are you going to get a more accurate dose of news, please tell me? Your local news, where they just regurgitate what the other news outlets spew out, with a few local murders and a "cat in the tree" story?? FOX News, an organization that was found to mislead people so much that more of their audience thought that Saddam had something to do with 9/11?? "Hardball with Chris Matthews", seems like a decent enough guy, but he spews out so many republican falsehoods if you had a drinking game based on it you would need a liver transplant before the hour was up. As for cable T.V, Jon Stewart's show is one of the best for accurate news, which is saying a lot of the landscape of news based on it being a comedy show. Sure, it's laced with cynicism concerning our politicians, but there is a good reason for that. They are all full of shit!!

And the winner of the "Catch a dirty plagiarist Award" is...... Cris2ferJ

Let me explain this for a moment. For the last year and a half, something that many of you will experience possibly, I have had a handful of people plagiarize my writings on their blog and attempt to pass them off as their own. I caught one culprit by accident by simply browsing other blogs, I caught 5 other's by using the site "Copyscape", and random emailers alerting me of said offense are responsible for 12 others that I'm aware of. So, because of a few hits I tracked back off of my stat-counter, I found myself on a message board where someone again tried to pass something off that I wrote as their original work. One of the commentators of this message board called them out, exposing the fraud, and that I am grateful for. So, Cris2ferJ, not only have you won the first "catch a plagiarist of Humanity Critic" Award(bravo), but you have already inspired a contest that will last pretty much forever.

The contest, for those willing to participate goes like this..

*Those who hip me to people plagiarizing my material will not only get*

1. A full length shout out and I will promote the shit out of your blog or any cause you want me to(on this blog that like only 4 people visit and shit),

2.You will also receive a HumanityCritic T-Shirt that I can't seem to give away.(The logo that is on the shirt is below)

So good luck, again I want to thank Cris2ferJ, and for those who don't want a t-shirt with my ugly mug on it I'll just say this: "Stop bitching you ungrateful sons-0f-bitches, it's free!!"

I had a clairvoyant vision proving that you can't trust a "Big Butt" or a "Smile"

Only recently, relatively late in life if you ask people who know me like my mother, have I began to see signs that I can suppress my impulses and act like a responsible adult. When an old lady honked her car at me like she had lost her god-damned mind, even though we were both sitting in rush hour traffic that was at least a mile long, I didn't flip out. Usually I would have waited to get my car besides hers at some point, and with colorful language explain to her what variety of "bitch" she was and go into the finer points of her lack of feminine hygiene. But I restrained myself, I just pulled beside her and let her know in sign language that she was number one.(I think I used the wrong finger though. hey, It's a start) When I was at a club recently and a group of guys began talking shit, my first instinct was to go right over there and take all three of them on, swinging with bad intentions, hoping to break the jaw of at least one of them. But since I'm older now, I told myself "Hey, there's three of them, I'm in no mood to catch an ass-whipping". Again, cooler heads prevailed, and I decided that taking on three guys at a time should be left to Jet Li and porn actresses, not Humanity F. Critic. OK, so I innocently noticed that two of them left early, and I innocently hit one over the head with a trashcan as he left said establishment.(Again, it's a start.)

I went into that long-winded introduction based on a waitress, sorry, a sexy temptress who makes penises rise like a fucking snake charmer, and me finally learning after 20 plus years to resist a "Big Butt" and a "smile". Now, let me be clear, I am all for a woman with a well manicured backyard and a dazzling set of pearly whites. Shit, if I was running for presidential office I would have a "Pro Gluteal" agenda, handing out campaign buttons with plump asses on them. No, I'm talking about those people that you find sexy as hell, but just know for the life of you that that person is nothing but trouble. That brings me to the bartender that I mentioned earlier, Vanessa, a 25 year old enchantress who moonlights as a bartender at my local watering hole.

She flirts with me constantly, and has made overtures that she indeed likes me, but as I sat at the bar watching her this past weekend I suddenly realized an undeniable truth. As the effects of malted hopps and rum damaged my liver, and I watched her handing out drinks as she danced to whatever song was playing, cleavage bulging out of her shirt, the flickering lights showcasing her Latina figure giving off the feeling that I was in a perpetual Hype Williams video, I knew things for me had changed. As she manuever down the bar, he skirt looking like it was painted on, giving me playful grins that entire night forcing me to stay in my chair for the remainder of the night because of the serious tent I was pitching, the thought that I was avoiding in my subconscious had suddenly come to the surface. I suddenly blurted out the thought which was an epiphany, one that I should have figured years earlier which would have saved me many hardships, I shouted out "I get it, you can't trust a big butt and a smile!!!"

As the men sitting near me looked at me the same way you would look at homeless people who claimed that they were the son of God, and the woman noticed the baby's arm protruding from the front of my pants, I sat down and started to realize the moment of clarity that just overcame my body. That feeling intensified when Vanessa grabbed my hand and asked me if I wanted a drink, because when she did I had visions like Anthony Michael Hall's character Johnny Smith on the show "Dead Zone", where I saw what would happened if I took the advice of my penis and decided to date Vanessa. Here are a few scenarios that ran through my head.

Putting up with her horrible music tastes: I have always maintained, like the movie "High Fidelity", that in life it's not "what you're like" but "what you like". I'm serious, it sounds shallow but I can tell if I'm going to get along with someone famously based on their tastes in music and movies. Just because you might like Nelly or Lil John doesn't make you a bad person per se, but if you like both Nelly AND Lil John then you might want to stay your silly ass at least three city blocks away from me. That being said, you would think that Vanessa's musical tastes would make me scream out the same way I do whenever I see Mary J Blige without cosmetics on. But, because of her luscious lips, her hips that would make Shakira weep with envy, and breasts that could indeed feed a third world country, my fear was that I would endure countless hours of Lil Flip and Young Joc, just to see her naked for a few minutes. Because of this, after I touched her hand and saw what a possible future with her would be like, I saw myself going crazy having to endure such musical punishment by holding an entire DMV hostage, screaming "Mother-fuck him and John Wayne!!!"

Phone calls in the middle of the night: This goes for men and women, you know that you aren't the only person your mate is sleeping with when their cell phone goes off constantly in the middle of the night. Sure, maybe that was your "home-girl" calling you 4:00 Monday morning because her boyfriend just broke-up with her, and maybe that was your mother calling you before she went to work Tuesday morning to remind you to pick up your father's birthday cake, I'll buy it. But when I'm laying beside you and every morning around three or 4 o'clock I am awaken by the insistent buzzing of your cell phone, I get the sneaking suspicion that me and your OBGYN aren't the only people seeing your "special place". When I touched Vanessa's hand I saw a similar scenario play out in my mind, but it was disturbing because she had "Let's get it on", "Just put it in your mouth", and "Sugar walls" as the ring-tones she gave those particular men.


Constant Doctor Visits: I know how I am, I have a very addictive personality, so if I found out that I wasn't the only gentleman that Vanessa was giving her time to I know that I would swallow my pride. I would tell myself that it's only a "sex thing" just to not weep like like a school girl at a later date, and maintain my scheduled penetration of a girl that is definitely above my pay grade. But after that, after trying to not think about the extra "room" every time we had sex and the used condom wrappers in her waste basket, my paranoia would set in as if I smoked the finest weed this side of the Mason Dixon. Granted, I am a sex addict but I am also a huge Germaphobe, so after the realization of her sexual habits eventually set in I would feel nastier than Lil Kim's pap smear. So, the image that rushed into my mind when me and that bar temptress touched hands was me visiting my doctor once a week to see if my penis was in any danger of falling off. In my mind, I went so often that I became cool with my doctor's staff, asked his head nurse how her son Timmy was doing in Biology, and asking his secretary if her husband Bob finally got that big promotion that he was hoping for.

My Jealousy would rear it's ugly head: Historically I have never been the jealous type. Of course I have had my heart ripped out of my chest, but I always felt that jealousy was a useless emotion because if your mate was going to fuck someone else there isn't anything you could particularly do about it. Even when women have left me by saying that they were "seeing someone else", "tired of my bullshit", or any other garden variety last words at the end of a relationship, my response was either "Get the fuck on then!", "Good, because if I heard Keith Sweat one more time I was going to hurt somebody!", or "Thank god, you use too much teeth anyway!!". But the effects that love has had on me from all those relationship battles doesn't provide me with the same abilities to maintain a strong facade any more, so I'm scared that I will be one of those "sucker for love ass tricks" that I constant ridicule. I mean, how many ex boyfriends, dudes who attempt to hug up on her, and overall attention can one man take?? When I touched her hand, primarily because she would be the finest female specimen that I ever laid horizontally beside, I saw myself becoming one of those money loaning "where in the fuck have you been" accusers, "why do you have to wear that shirt?" question askers, ex boyfriend pummelers, I saw myself becoming something that I never wanted to become because of her "big butt and her smile".

So, after I released her hand and saw what a possible future would be like with myself and Vanessa, I suddenly felt at ease with my new found "control". Throwing back my drink, prepared to get another one, a stranger who was sitting besides me said, "Damn, that girl is fine as hell. What would you do if she gave you that number??" Despite my recent visions I turned to the gentleman and said, quoting the great poet Ice Cube, "Man, I'd knock those boots from here to Albequerke!!"

*Side-note:* For all I know, she could be a decent woman, one who doesn't offer herself up to men to be banged on like a pinata, one who likes music that I like. So, I could be wrong as hell, which is sad, because I could have given her the best 10 minutes of her natural life.

Artist that a Old Head told me to check out: Nina Simone

For the past week or so since I saw Saxophone Willy in that shopping mall, I have called him a few times but made no real attempt to contact him. Not that I'm mad or anything, but because I'm a coward when it comes to receiving any bad news I just hope his gambling debts didn't result in him taking a very lengthy dirt nap. That being said, I really didn't know what older person I would use for this particular entry. I was going to use MR. Wilson, the father of my friend Jerry, but had to kill that idea when I realized that he was going through some black "American Beauty" shit. I mean, fucking girls more than half his age, smoking the "reefer", and listening to "Dem Franchize Boys" and horseshit groups of that ilk instead of musical acts appropriate to his age like Count Basie, he suddenly wasn't an option.

I was stuck, which isn't a big deal because this is only a fucking blog, but I at least wanted to maintain some sort of regularity on this god forsaken site. Anyway, hungry as fuck, yesterday I went to the my local soul food restaurant called "Celeste's" that I frequent no more than once a month. It's not that the eatery is too expensive to go to multiple times in a 31 day period, the food is inexpensive and quite good, but because their food is greasy as fuck and my family has a history of heart attacks, hypertension, and diabetes, I make sure to see Mrs. Celeste as little as possible. That being said, I ventured into that particular eatery to get me some old fashion cholesterol, I mean soul food.

Behind the counter was Celeste, the owner of said restaurant who has to be no younger than 65, beautiful chocolate complected woman who I could just tell used to break hearts before I was born. She greeted me with a warm hello, walking around the counter to give me a tight embrace that pressed her nearly geriatric set of massive boobs against my chest, me wrestling with the guilt I felt getting a chubby from a woman in her 60's. She walked back behind the counter, and after I ordered the artery blocking fried chicken and macaroni and cheese, I said "Celeste, I'm doing something for my blog and I need you to give me one of your favorite artists of all time." She paused for a few moments, seeming happy that a person had asked her a question that wasn't the cost of the number 3 combination plate, smiled and said "Nina Simone". I don't remember what she was saying after that, yeah my hunger had me distracted, but as she glared off into space as she recalled the vivid memories of a singer that she adored, that was enough to feature her in my "old head" segment this week.

Nina Simone, born Eunice Kathleen Waymon on February 21st, 1933, was one of our great singers, songwriters and pianists. Her voice transcended many styles, blues, rhythm and blues, classical, soul, and jazz.(Even though she despised the term) Originally from North Carolina, growing up one of 8 siblings she was heavily influenced by the sounds of Marian Anderson, even performing at her local church as a kid. At her first recital at the age of 10, her parents were forced to sit at the back of the hall to make room for whites, an incident that many feel sparked her life long contribution to the civil rights movement. At 17 she moved to Philadelphia where she taught piano. She then studied piano at Julliard, but because of a lack of funds she soon had to abandoned that idea.

She soon adopted the name "Nina Simone" after she got a start in Atlantic City singing jazz.("Nina" was her boyfriend's nickname for her (from the Spanish for "little girl"), and "Simone" was after the French actress Simone Signoret) She first got noticed in 1959 with her rendition of George Gershwin's "I Loves You Porgy"(from Porgy and Bess), which was soon followed by the single "My Baby Just Cares for Me". In the 60's she was heavily involved in the civil rights movement, recording songs including "To Be Young, Gifted and Black"(later covered by Aretha Franklin and Donny Hathaway), "Backlash Blues," "Mississippi Goddam"( a response to Medgar Evan's murder and the bombing of the church killing 4 little girls), and "I Wish I knew How It Would Feel to Be Free".

So many great songs and this post is long enough, with songs like "Sinnerman", "Here comes the Sun", "Feeling Good", "Love me or Leave Me", "I ain't got no life", "Need a Little Sugar in My Bowl", "Do What You Gotta Do", "Keeper of the Flame", I can see why Celeste loves her so much. To get a sample of Nina Simone's music, check out my myspace page where I will sample a different song of hers until the next "Old head" segment.

Video of the Day: Jungle Brothers "What U Waiting 4"

This video proves that you can shake your ass and feel pretty damn good about yourself doing so. It proves that ladies don't have to be conflicted with giving that sorry ass "But they aren't talking about me, and the beat is banging!!" after shaking their plump derrieres to men calling them "bitches and hoes" to a sub par beat. Hip Hop heads in general, this classic tune proves that you can get your dance on without playing the house negro, shuffling your feet and saying "But it's dance music!!" as you do the latest dance steps. No need to believe that only imbeciles can make your body move, people that not only can hardly string two coherent sentences together but also offends your lyrical sensibilities on every level possible don't have to control your dancing area. Hip Hop can be fun, make you dance, and not have to set your race of people back a thousand fucking years. Long Live the Jungle Brothers!

HumanityCritic's Guinness Book of World Records.

As long as I can remember, and being a connoisseur of hemp my recollections are a bit fuzzy, I have been obsessed with records. No, I'm not talking about the "two turntables and a mic, watch a motherfucker scratch behind his back" kind of records, but more on the unsurpassed accomplishment type of records. If I wasn't studying that Guinness Book of world records like it was my bible, I was coming home to break my own personal records on a regular basis. From trying to break my personal best in the broad jump, having vomit inducing speed eating contests with my cousins, I even think I had a string of 50 victories straight in the age old immature game of pencil fighting. When I got to high school I was arrogant, and because I just knew that I would be a bona fide track and field phenom, I just knew that all the records posted in the gymnasium would come down faster than Shaq's yearly scoring average. But as time went on though, my arrogance turned to heartbreak as I knew that I was nowhere near as good as I had to be to break those particular records. The 100m time was damn near a second faster than my personal best, my furthest long just was 3 feet short of my school record, we won't even go into the 200 meter disparity. Suffice it to say, I abandoned the idea of breaking any type of record for a long time.

That is until recently. People, aren't there certain in things in life that you feel that you do so often that you should hold some sort of record for it? Have you ever played your favorite song constantly, visit a store an ungodly amount of times, said a phrase that you have uttered a million times to the point that if Guiness was around documenting your repetitive behavior that somewhere a pimpley kid will be reading about your exploits in a yearly record book? I don't know, maybe no one else feels this way, maybe I have too much time on my hands, maybe I should masturbate less and come up with posts with much better content. Who knows, but the following list are things I have done enough times to garner me a world record, if the good people at guinness recorded such things.

Times I have listened to "De la Soul" is dead:(20,000): Yes De La Soul is one of my favorite groups of all time, yes I respect them immensely because they are on the short list of artists who always push the creative envelope and could care less about radio play, but to be honest "De la Soul is dead" is hardly my favorite album. I guess the next question you must have, being that I arrogantly feel that people who read my blog are a pack of intellectual motherfuckers, is "Why in the hell have you listened to that album so much??" Well, I don't know what it is, but every time I get in the shower and wash the stench off myself probably caused by a woman of ill repute, I have to have some sort of music playing while I lather up. The one tape that has been lodged in my "bathroom radio" for the past decade has indeed been "De La Soul is Dead". I never thought about changing it, putting a CD in the radio instead, even braving the wackness that is local radio as I vigorously clean my "hot spots". Maybe it's a good luck charm or something, but I'm the only person probably in the world that can recite that album verbatim. Song lyrics, skits, ad libs, the album is burned in my memory forever.

Times I have said that "Hip Hop is on life support":(400) Listen, I can tell by their defeated sighs that my friends are tired of me always waxing poetically about the current state of Hip Hop. Even though I don't particularly think the art form is deceased, I constantly use the "life support" analogy because even though I think there is a chance for a happy outcome, the chances of that are as bleak as a Paris Hilton pap smear. I can understand my friends wanting to put me in a choke hold as I talk about the decline of hip hop, I can be repetitive sometimes. But, what I can't stand for is when one of my friend's want to quickly dismiss my "life support" analogy, suggesting that opinion is the furthest thing from the truth. I feel like Chris Rock when in his comedy skit he was refuting a republicans claim that white males were "losing this country", where he angrily says "Have you driven around this motherfucker lately??" To those people who quickly dismiss the piss poor state of Hip Hop, have you driven around the Hip Hop landscape lately?? (Figuratively that is.) Yeah, that's the one time that I want to knock someones teeth down their fucking throat for being optimistic.

Times I have struck someone in the throat: For anyone who reads this knows, I could be a 100 pound weakling, simply embellishing about the many episodes of hand to hand combat that I have been involved in during the course of my life. That's fine, but if you believe one thing that I have ever written please believe this, hitting someone in the throat is a winning option if you are ever in trouble. For one thing, if done correctly, you get to kick, punch, or ridicule your victim for a while after delivering said blow as they desperately try to regain their breath. Also, the person in question is so shocked that you hit them in the neck that even if they recover quickly physically, most times you own them mentally to the point that they don't want any part of you.

Times I have poured beer on a woman:(50) A lot of this blog, as people who are friends of mine will tell you, is recollections of things that happened in the past. Granted, I am still a pre-ejaculator, single, and I do have anger problems, those things are current as a motherfucker. But the whole "pouring beer on women" thing is something that is a thing of the past, when I lived a faster lifestyle and when I simply didn't give a flying fuck. For all the feminists who are planning a lynch mob visit to my house rest assured, the women who I poured malted hopps on were unruly harlots, if that makes any difference at all. But yeah, any time a woman disrespected a member of my family, shot down a friend of mine in a unnecessarily mean fashion, any garden variety offense like that, in no time she was getting a pitcher of beer poured on her person while I stood above said woman laghing my ass off. If was fun seeing the utter shock on the face of the drenched victim, it was also a hoot bitch-slapping any dude who attempted to run up and be her knight and shining armor. I sure had issues, who am I bullshitting, I still do.

An Extremely late Father's Day post.

When I get married to my soul mate, besides the affection and attention that I will show her to prove my love, I will also have the date that we became life partners tattooed on my body. Ok, I'm lying, the real reason that I will have that specific date etched on my person is because I am forgetful as fuck when it comes to dates. Seriously, whenever I am in a relationship do you know what 6 words I dread the most? No, it's not "I'm pregnant motherfucker, pay up bitch!!", after sex hearing "I used to be a man", or "You have a toddler sized penis!". The six words that I cringe as soon as they enter my eardrums are "Do you know what today is?'

Yeah, there are only two anniversaries that I remember every year like clockwork. The first is the anniversary of being dropped like a bad habit by a woman that I thought I would marry one day. I can always tell that one because it was early spring when that happened, so when it starts getting warm I know that a few years ago I foolishly considered taking my own life. The second is the death of my father, because of the mass commercialism of holidays in general I am reminded of father's day, so when it comes around I have the wonderful recollection of nurses dumping ice cubes on my father's body as his temperature skyrocketed, minutes later him dying right in front of me.

Since his passing I have had to juggle so many things in my head, our turbulent relationship, his verbal abuse, my love for the man when he could at times be the coolest motherfucker in the world, knowing that at the end of the day he truly loved me, random people accusing him of a slew of shit that I don't know is even true, wishing that I wasn't such a bastard and just gave in sometimes, having a family member tell me that she was glad that he was dead, coming to grips with the fact that I inherited his anger and his sharp tongue, and last but not least, the ghetto ass "Six Feet Under" impressions that my mind puts me through because of the 200 plus dreams that I have had where me and my father have these nocturnal, in-depth conversations.

Each year gets easier, and each year I feel less and less like an emotional basket case ready to go to a concert where your garden variety wack rap artist is performing and going on a MOTHERFUCKING KILLING SPREE.(Who am I shitting, I think about doing that when I'm in the best of moods) Each year I feel a little less certain that I will curse my unborn babies with my inherited verbal venom and self loathing, each year I feel a little better about not being an old man with rooms full of porn and a house full of cats. Hey, I know that in this age of therapy I sound like one of those whining malcontented pussies who want to blame their parents for their problems, that's why this is the year I take this grief by the hair, turn it around, and whisper in it's ear "Who's your daddy motherfucker!!"(That's hoping that my grief is indeed a female, because otherwise that would just be fucking weird.) With that being said, this post isn't dedicated to those motherfucking sperm donors, this is dedicated to all the Fathers out there taking care of their kids.

Al Gore interviewed by Mos Def

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This video has been posted on other websites, but I thought I would share it alongside my commentary because something that Mos Def said at the end of the clip struck me as the unadulterated truth. After interviewing Al Gore, Mos Def says "I'm a big fan of his second act!", a statement that I agree with 100%. I mean, where was that Al Gore 6 years ago, looking comfortable in his own skin, unafraid to talk about global warming even though it doesn't get people's dick hard like "gay marriage".(So to speak) Even though Al Gore says he wished he was president because of the horrible state of affairs that we are in the midst of, I wish he was president as well, I really believe that he is happier than a pig in shit that he isn't the current commander in chief.

I mean, imagine if Al Gore did a 10th of the horrible shit that Bush has done in his term and a half in office. Due to an inept media, weak democrats, a clueless public, and a republican smear machine that once called a man who lost limbs in Vietnam "unpatriotic", Al Gore would be put through the ringer in ways that would make Bush's current treatment seem like a Swedish fucking massage. That being said, I really do hope he decides to run for President, even though he claims he has no intentions of doing so. But I figure, if the dude can be as passionate about running for president as he is about the environment, I expect him to challenge Karl Rove to a fist fight, and refer to republican candidates like Giuliani and McCain as his "bitches". Gore in 08' I say.

The Technical Virgin

Not for nothing, but where were girls like this when I was in high school? If it wasn't me and some female classmate of mine dryhumping to the point that the friction of our jeans almost starting a fire, the long ass makeout sessions due to the young woman's unwillingness to take it a few steps further, or her simply telling me "You aren't deserving enough to be my first!", I would have loved an open minded chick like the one in the video. Granted, I've never been a fan of the old fashion "back door" entry, and I find something oddly unromantic about yelling "Yo what is that, corn??" during the sex act, it sure as hell beats the shit out of teenage blueballs.